


The Avengers Academy

by Codee21



Series: IronStrange Bingo 2019 [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Avengers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Incest, Siblings, Song Lyrics, Superheroes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vanya Hargreeves Deserves Better, Vanya Hargreeves Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codee21/pseuds/Codee21
Summary: On the twelfth hour of the first day of October 1989, forty-three women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.Sir Howard Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, managed to adopt seven of them:Steve, Clint, Natasha, Bucky, Stephen, Bruce, and Anthony.And he called them The Avengers Academy.ON HIATUS, because medical school is a bitch.





	1. “Mad World”

**Author's Note:**

> For my IronStrange Bingo "Free For All" square. 
> 
> Shoutout to turtle_abyss for being an amazing beta and for listening to my rants, as always <3
> 
> The song in this chapter is "Mad World", based on the stripped down version performed by Adam Lambert. This isn't a songfic, but I am following the basic structure of TUA and that includes music choices/some emphasis on music for obvious canon reasons.

Tony felt his brow prickle with sweat under the heat of the spotlight that shone on him. Its blinding glare obscured his view of the empty concert hall, as well as that of the piano in front of him.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to see to be able to play. The music was a part of him - it always had been, for as long as he could remember.

 

He cleared his throat, stretched his trembling hands one final time, closed his eyes against the blaze of the spotlight, and began to play.

A melancholy melody was wrung from the piano’s hidden strings as his fingers danced across the keys.

A few moments later, he joined his own voice with that of the instrument.

 

_All around me are familiar faces,_

_worn out spaces, worn out places._

_Bright and early for the daily races,_

_goin’ nowhere, goin_ ’ _nowhere._

 

As he continued to sing and to play, Tony let his mind wander.

Unsurprisingly, his thoughts began to drift toward memories of his childhood. This song **always** reminded him of his siblings, and of the Academy.

 

_And the tears are fillin’ up their glasses,_

_no expression, no expression._

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow,_

_no tomorrow, no tomorrow._

 

Number One. Steve.

A body filled with a brute strength that no other living creature possessed, and a strong will to match it. His imposing stature was well-suited for his domineering personality, both of which continued to steadily grow even now when they were long past adolescence.

He had always taken the lead in every situation the siblings found themselves in, regardless of whether or not he was the best fit for the job. According to their father, though, Steve was **always** the best fit for the job. Even now as Tony practiced his music and their surviving siblings performed other Earthly tasks, Steve was hundreds of thousands of miles away, sent to space with a mission that Howard Hargreeves had entrusted to him and him alone.

 

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,_

_the dreams in which I’m dyin’ are the best I’ve ever had._

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,_

_when people run in circles it’s a very, very_

_mad world._

_Mad world._

 

Number Two. Clint.

His perfect aim was his strength - and his weakness. Though his sense of vigilante justice led him to seek out physical brawls nearly every night, he did his best to avoid emotional altercations before they truly began. As a child and teenager, he’d tucked himself away into the mansion’s elaborate system of secret passages, air ducts, and hidden tunnels in the hope of avoiding the frequent fights between his siblings. Because when he did become involved… the barbed words of his anger never failed to hit their target with deadly accuracy, just as the arrows that flew from his bow never missed their mark.

Everyone, including Tony, knew that Clint had come to fear his own impulsive hot-headedness at a young age because it tended to drive people away.

Like Laura.

 

_Children waitin’ for the day they feel good,_

_happy birthday, happy birthday._

_Made to feel the way that every child should,_

_sit and listen, sit and listen._

 

Number Three. Natasha.

Tony’s only sister wasn’t weak in will or body, but ever since she’d learned to talk her true power had lain in words rather than actions. Her sharp mind, finely-honed intuition, and lack of qualms with invading the privacy of others had made her into a master of secrets. And when a secret didn’t exist, she could spin her own poisoned web of words and will it into being. She knew everything that happened within their family… or at least, as close as was possible in a group as strange and shrouded in mystery as their own. It was no wonder that she fit so comfortably into the glitter-coated cesspool of vanity and blackmail that was Hollywood.

Yet it was always Natasha who tried in vain to hold their family together, even though her knowledge and her abilities made her the best suited to tear it apart from the inside.

 

_Went to school and I was very nervous,_

_no one knew me, no one knew me._

_Hello teacher, tell me what’s my lesson?_

_Look right through me, look right through me._

 

Number Four. Bucky.

If Natasha was the most adept out of all of them at holding her thoughts and feelings close to her chest, then Bucky was by far the worst. He was raw in every sense of the word, a tangled ball of crossed, exposed wires that could only be soothed with chemical assistance. Unfortunately, it was all too understandable. After all, Bucky had been the one to suffer the most at their father’s hands. Tony had been neglected, true, but Bucky had **suffered**. He had been taught from a young age to fear both his powers and the small dark spaces that Clint craved, and his mind had become haunted by ghosts both internal and external. His hands were as cold as the dead whom he unwillingly channeled, his eyes sometimes just as distant and lifeless when his veins were thrumming with a new kind of pill or powder.

 

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,_

_the dreams in which I’m dyin’ are the best I’ve ever had._

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,_

_when people run in circles it’s a very, very_

_mad world._

 

Number Five. Stephen.

The closest thing to happiness that Tony had ever felt was when he was in Stephen’s arms.

Thinking about him caused pain beyond what words can describe - like clawing at a wound that was still open and bleeding and refused to heal even after all these years.

The love of his life had disappeared, and it was still impossible to accept that he was never coming back.

 

_Mad world._

 

Number Six. Bruce.

The only true friend he’d had in that fucked up place they’d called a home.

Another sharp pain lanced his heart. It hurt too much to think about him, too.

 

_Mad world._

 

And then… there was him. Number Seven.

No one cared about the words that came out of his mouth unless he sang them. The only two people who had were long gone.

That’s how it always had been, and how it always would be.

It made sense, though.

 

_Mad world._

 

After all, there was nothing special about Anthony Edward Hargreeves.

He was just … ordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is VERY much a WIP, as in I'm posting as I write. So let me know what you liked in this chapter! Tell me what makes you excited, and what you want to see more of. I'll take everything into consideration :)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos + Comments = Life <3
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far - and if you like my style, check out my other IronStrange works!


	2. "I Think We're Alone Now"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've been assured that I can use single chapters for fills on my IronStrange Bingo card, this one is going to be for my "Hope" square!
> 
> Thanks for your awesome response to this everyone, hope it doesn't disappoint <3 and a very big shout-out to my amazing beta turtle_abyss!!! <3
> 
> The song is "I Think We're Alone Now" by Tiffany, and yes it's the same song that's playing in The Umbrella Academy for that bit. It's such a good song and great scene, and if it's not broke don't fix it!

The mansion was larger than Tony remembered. For most people returning to their childhood home, he knew that it was usually the other way around - that the spaces someone inhabited when they were smaller tended to feel like they had shrunk in size since their last visit, when in actuality the viewer had simply grown.

But for Tony, who had always felt like somewhat of a prisoner during his years at the Academy, the absence of their father made the rooms with their vaulted ceilings and wooden paneling feel just a little more open, the lights just a little less dim, and the strange collection of artifacts and oddities that covered nearly every surface just a little less offputting.

He wasn’t **happy** their father was dead, exactly. Howard Hargreeves had never struck his children, never starved them, never touched them. Compared to some, Tony reasoned, his upbringing was damn near perfect. And some small part of him that had always secretly hoped to earn his father’s affection and pride would forever mourn his passing as a lost opportunity.

But he hadn’t loved Howard. And so there were no tears in his eyes as he wandered around the house’s twisting maze of corridors and lavish, musty rooms, making a game of counting how many decorative “A”s he could find engraved into various windows and vases and other items.

 

By the time he’d reached the door of the parlor he was up to thirty-two. As his gaze roamed the walls in search of the inevitable number thirty-three, however, he spotted a portrait hanging above the mantle and froze.

And suddenly there **were** tears burning in his eyes, because now they were staring into the blue-grey depths of Stephen’s.

The glossy canvas could never do them justice. No artist’s brush could ever possibly manage to get their color just right, or capture their gleam of intelligence and swirling intensity.

 

“Tony?”

He spun around at the sound of his name. Once he had, he found himself facing a smiling red-haired woman who was descending the main staircase.

“You’re actually here,” she said, face inscrutable as always.

His mind searched for a real reply, but after a moment of silence where he could come up with nothing better, he settled for “Hey, Natasha.”

“Hey bro.”

He reached up to brush away the tears on his cheeks that he knew she’d already seen.

She flashed him a small, sad smile as her eyes briefly flicked up to the portrait behind him.

Without giving him the opportunity to refuse, she stepped forward and wrapped him into a light hug. Though he was taller than her when both were barefoot, in her heels she towered over him so that his face pressed against the silky fabric covering her shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the embrace.

 

“What is he doing here?” Tony looked up from Natasha’s shoulder and saw that Clint had breezed right past them where they stood, barely sparing him a glance in the process. “You don’t belong here. Not after what you did.”

“You’re seriously gonna do this today? Now?”

He ignored her words as he ascended the staircase.

“Way to dress for the occasion, by the way,” she continued, gesturing to the dark-colored hero suit he wore even though his back was turned to them. “ _See what I have to deal with here?”_ her eyes told Tony, despite her never opening her mouth.

“Dad appreciated that I kept fighting bad guys when everyone else but Steve quit,” he said over his shoulder. “He would have liked what I’m wearing a hell of a lot more than your designer LA garbage.”

Tony winced at the low blow. The line of Nat’s mouth tightened into a quick frown, but she said nothing.

“You know what? I - maybe he’s right. I shouldn’t -“

“Forget about him,” she said firmly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Tony couldn’t tell whether or not she was lying - it was always hard to tell, with Natasha. But he had no better option than to accept her words at face value - not when the alternative was returning to his tiny, empty apartment, and alienating himself from the one sibling who might possibly be on his side in the process.

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay. For now, at least. I can’t wait to hear what Steve has to say to me later.”

“Ignore him. Ignore them both. They have their own issues. I feel grateful you’re here, and I think Bucky will too.”

“If he shows,” said Tony.

“If he shows,” she agreed. “And is sober enough to feel… anything.”

An awkward silence enveloped them both, until Natasha excused herself and ascended the staircase behind them that led to the upper floors of the house where their rooms were. Tony wasn’t ready to see those just yet. And so he wandered into the parlor, drawn once again to the portrait hanging above the fireplace.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring into Stephen’s sixteen year-old face, forever frozen in time while Tony and the rest grew steadily older.

A voice from behind startled him out of his thoughts. “Welcome home, Master Anthony.”

“Jarvis,” he greeted warmly, crossing the distance between them embracing the android with far more emotion than he had Natasha.

“It’s so good to see you,” responded Jarvis. He followed the path of Tony’s eyes, and looked over at him knowingly with a sad smile when he realized the object of his gaze. “It’s been thirteen years, four months and fourteen days since Number Five disappeared. But I suspect you already knew that.”

Tony nodded. There was no point in hiding the fact that he’d counted down the days - the hours, even - since the love of his life had disappeared into the air without a trace.  “You know, it’s funny,” he quietly admitted instead. “I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark, and he wouldn’t be able to find us - so he’d disappear again. So every night I’d leave a snack and make sure all the lights were on.”

“Oh I remember your snacks,” said Jarvis with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure I stepped in half of those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.”

“They were his favorite,” Tony said simply, and turned his head once more to look at Stephen’s face. “It was stupid,” he said, swiping at the tears on his cheeks. “I was sixteen, I knew intellectually that if he made it back to us he would have stayed. Or that if he truly wanted to leave again, some lights and sandwiches wouldn’t stop him.”

“You were hurting, and you were afraid for him,” the butler responded calmly. “And for years, you managed to keep alive the hope that he’d return.” He sighed before continuing. “Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere, too. He never lost that hope.”

Tony’s voice was bitter and sad and desperate all in one as he responded: “And look where that got him.”

 

~ o ~

 

The crackling of logs in the fireplace and the tinkling of ice at the bar were the only sounds that filled the parlor for several long minutes as the five remaining Hargreeves sat around the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

 

Finally, Steve, always the leader, cleared his throat and began. “I guess we should get this started. So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot.”

“Dad had a favorite spot?” asked Tony, unable to stop himself from asking.

Clint shot him a glare, but Steve answered without malice, forever happy to be in charge of the show no matter who it was he was leading. “Yeah, you know, under the oak tree. He and I used to sit out there all the time.”

He stared at the blond man blankly.

“You never did that?” asked Steve.

Tony scoffed. “Did you ever see Dad spend time with me willingly? Much less alone? No, didn’t think so.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. God, what had made him think that would be a good idea to come?  “Make me one of whatever you’re having, Bucky,” he called out vaguely to the other side of the room, where the sounds of clinking glass bottles had grown steadily louder.

“Hear you loud and clear, Tones. Out of curiosity, though, did anyone spend time with Father Dearest underneath the tree besides Captain Favorite over there?” asked the source of the commotion from his place at the bar. “I don’t remember having those kinds of father-son playdates, but then again my most vivid memories of our time together happened in a dark mausoleum, and days like that have a funny way of making you forget the jollier ones.”

“Nope,” said Natasha, legs sprawled over the arm of the chair she sat in sideways, not even looking up from the task of spearing an olive from her martini with a toothpick. “Just Steve.”

“Ah well, as long as I’m not the only one lacking those precious childhood moments.” He strode toward them from the other side of the room carrying two large highball glasses filled to the brim with ice and an amber liquid. Tony reached for one when the other man drew closer, but Bucky stepped out of reach, cradling both drinks protectively to his chest with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Nope. Mine.”

“Dick,” muttered Tony, but he didn’t press the matter.

He didn’t belong here.

 

“Alright guys, listen up. There’s still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?” said Steve in an authoritative tone, doing his best to get them all back on track.

“Like what?” asked Clint, breaking his self-imposed silence. Tony was proud of the amount of restraint he’d shown in this conversation so far, really.

“Like the way he died.”

“And here we go,” the archer muttered.

“It was a heart attack, Steve,” said Natasha.

“Yeah, according to the coroner,” the large man replied.

“Exactly. They’re the ones who should be telling us how he died, not the other way around,” Clint interjected. “Part of being a leader is letting other people do their jobs.”

Aaaand the restraint was gone.

“I’m just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange,” retorted Steve.

“ _Quelle surprise_ ,” Bucky said darkly. Tony glanced over at him to see that he’d already drained the first glass, and was now taking his first large swig of the second.

“Strange how?” asked Natasha, always pressing for more information.

“He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust.”

“Steve, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles,” said Clint.

“No, he must have known something was going to happen,” he argued to Clint before deliberately turning to Bucky.

Tony didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit.

“Look, I know you don't like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad.”

Natasha scoffed.

Bucky froze. “I can’t just call Dad in the afterlife and ask him to stop playing tennis with Hitler, so he can talk to his darling children.”

“Since when? That's your thing.”

“I'm not in the right frame of mind.”

“He’s high,” translated Natasha.

“You're high?” asked Steve.

Natasha rolled her eyes.”Is there an echo in here?” Tony heard her mutter.

“Yep,” Bucky replied to Steve, popping the “p” annoyingly.

“Well, sober up, this is important.”

Bucky looked down at his mostly-full glass of booze consideringly for a moment, before raising it to his lips and downing it all in one go. With the other hand, he flipped Steve off while he chugged.

Tony tried to hide his laughter in his suit sleeve.

 

This time it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, but continued to press onward. “Then there's the issue of the missing monocle.”

“Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?” asked Clint, his patience growing visibly thinner with every word Steve spoke.

“Exactly! It's worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge.”

“Where are you going with this?” asked Tony.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, Tony?” said Natasha, swirling around the liquid in her martini glass absently. “He thinks one of us killed Dad.”

The room grew silent. Steve sighed, but he didn’t deny their sister’s words.

“You do!” said Tony as shock coursed through him. “How could you think any of us are capable of that?”

“I mean, I hated him,” said Bucky, “but murder isn’t really a permanent solution for someone like me.”

“Well done, Steve,” said Clint, clapping sarcastically. “Way to lead.”

The archer turned and left the room, and was swiftly followed by Natasha, Bucky, and Tony.

“That’s not what I’m saying - “ started Steve.

“You’re crazy,” interrupted Bucky. “And coming from me, that really says something.”

“But I’m not done -”

“Okay well sorry, I’m just gonna go murder Mom, be right back,” Clint replied scathingly.

Tony could hear Steve continue to protest their words as he left the parlor with the others.

 

Well, that went about as well as he’d expected.

 

~ o ~

 

Tony opened the door to his old room, wincing at the sound its creaking hinges made in the quiet hallway.

The hallway decorated with brightly colored pictures of children fighting, with words like “gouge” and “disarm” written in big, glossy, bolded print.

God, their father had been so fucked up. No wonder they still acted like such children towards each other now - they’d never gotten the chance to really **be** children, had they? Their sibling bickering was one of the few things that had been relatively normal about their upbringing, and even now they still clung to it.

 

He took in a deep breath to steady himself as he entered -

\- and choked on a lungful of dust. Wow, it had been a while since he was in here last.

Coughing and sputtering, he made his way toward the center of the room, taking it all in as best he could with his watering eyes:

The huge window, with its cushioned bench that he’d loved to curl up on, reading late into the night by the light of the moon.

His bed, with its crimson sheets, golden frame, and squeaky springs.

His desk, covered in pliers and wires and odd bits of metal -

 

Oh god, he’d nearly forgotten about those.

 

Tony crossed the room and bent over to take a closer look at the objects that littered the wooden surface of his old workbench. His gaze slid over the gadgets he’d poured countless hours of his childhood into, as well as the tools he’d used to create them. There was the grappling hook he’d made, and the enhanced megaphone for Natasha, the noise-cancelling headphones for Bucky...

… and the button cams.

He eagerly grabbed the three small devices from the desk and blew off the layers of dust that coated them.

Tony hadn’t been there during any of his siblings’ hero missions. Well, except for that one time in Sokovia - but that was unintentional, and went very, very poorly.

After all, why **would** he have been invited to save the world with his family? He had no powers, and his presence would have only held them back - again, as was evidenced by their escapades in Sokovia.

But with the little black circles in his hand, sometimes he’d almost felt as if he were there fighting alongside them. Stephen and Bruce never quite understood his longing to watch The Umbrella Academy take down villains and crooks, but they obliged to wear his homemade cameras on the lapels of their uniforms once they realized how much it meant to him.

He’d looked on from Bruce’s perspective as neon green tentacles sprouted from his chest to crush a bad guy, and rode with Stephen as he distracted them, the video feed momentarily turning to static as he popped in and out of existence. He remembered watching with awe the first time they’d really fought together - those bank robbers hadn’t stood a chance. And he remembered listening to their father afterwards as he introduced them to the world.

He’d announced that he had adopted six special children, that day.

Six.

 

Nope. Nope nope nope. He needed to stop thinking about this. Right now.

He put the button cams back on his desk, nearly throwing them onto the wooden surface in his haste to be rid of them and the memories that accompanied them.

They all had so many skeletons in their closets. And now that they’d all returned to the mansion again, the doors had been thrown wide open.

Of course, in thinking of things hiding in closets, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his relationship with Stephen once more. His eyes started to water once more, and he angrily scrubbed them away, trying to convince himself that it was just a delayed reaction to the dust.

Crying once in a day was bad enough.

Crying twice was just pathetic.

And he **really** didn’t want to go for number three, because what would that say about him? So he hastily left the room and shut the door, leaving the gadgets he’d given up creating when Stephen disappeared where he’d left them.

Some things needed to stay locked in their closets.

 

~ o ~

 

Tony sat at the foot of the staircase, considering all of his options.

 

Option one: He could stay.

 

Option two: He could leave and never look back.

 

Option three: …

Okay, maybe there wasn’t really a third viable option. Still, that didn’t make deciding between numbers one and two any less difficult.

 

Usually in times like these when he needed to make a difficult decision, he’d make a list of the pros and cons. In this case, though, the pros and cons seemed rather self-explanatory. The real question was whether he wanted to keep trying to be a part of this family, or cut his losses and run away from the painful memories that had been enveloping him since he first set foot in the mansion this morning.

 

He was still lost deep in his thoughts when the sound of a heavy baseline echoed from the upper floors of the house.

Was that…?

No, it couldn’t be.

 

_Children behave!_

_That’s what they say when we're together._

_And watch how you play!_

_They don't understand._

 

 **It was**.

 

_And so we're_

_running just as fast as we can._

_Holding onto one another’s hands._

_Trying to get away into the night,_

_and then you put your arms around me._

_And we tumble to the ground,_

_and then you say._

 

It was the song. **Their** song.

Whenever their father disappeared on mysterious trips to unknown places and his siblings had a rare day off from their training, they’d play this record on loop for hours on end. Howard never allowed them to blast music throughout the house, but Jarvis and Mom never chastised them for it when their boss was away.

It was a code of sorts, for them. Something that brought them together even when they were fighting over stupid shit. Their musical tastes varied so much from one another, but they all knew every word to every song on this album.

 

Tony started to sing under his breath, tapping his foot, and he just **knew** that the other four Hargreeves in the house were dancing by now.

 

_I think we're alone now._

_There doesn't seem to be anyone around._

_I think we're alone now._

_The beating of our hearts is the only sound._

 

He closed his eyes and sighed before getting to his feet during the dance break.

Okay, he guessed he was doing this.

He sucked at dancing, always had and always would. Somehow his musical abilities had never translated well into the physical sphere. But Tony still found himself moving to the contagious beat as the lyrics kicked back in, and he started singing along full-volume. It was a little out of his range now that his voice had dropped, but he managed.

 

_Look at the way_

_we gotta hide what we're doin'._

_'Cause what would they say?_

_If they ever knew, and so we're_

_running just as fast as we can._

_Holding onto one another’s hands._

 

Steve had to be the one playing it. The records and the player were all kept in his room, and this song on the album had always been his favorite. Tony choked out a laugh at the thought of his huge, muscular adult body dancing along like he had when he was a kid, and oh man what he wouldn’t give to be standing next to him right now.

 

Huh.

Maybe Steve didn’t suck at being a leader in **every single** situation.

Good idea on how to rally the troops, man meat. Stir up some of the few truly pure, happy memories they had of living here together?

Okay, he’d bite.

He was… hopeful. Hopeful of what he wasn’t exactly sure, but he couldn’t stop the blossoming warmth that was spreading through his chest. And he didn’t want to stop it, either.

 

_Trying to get away into the night,_

_and then you put your arms around me._

_And we tumble to the ground,_

_and then you say._

_I think we're alone now,_

_There doesn't seem to be anyone around._

_I think we're alone now,_

_The beating of our hearts is the only sound._

_I think we're alone now,_

_There doesn't seem to be anyone around._

_I think we're alone now,_

_The beating of our hearts is the only sound._

 

The mansion’s lights cut off with a crash, taking the music with it. Thunder tumbled outside, even though the skies were clear when Tony first arrived and there wasn’t any rain in the forecast for days.

 

Well, so much for the feel-good family nostalgia. Looks like his siblings were getting back into the hero business whether they liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is VERY much a WIP, as in I'm posting as I write. So let me know what you liked in this chapter! Tell me what makes you excited, and what you want to see more of. I'll take everything into consideration :)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos + Comments = Life <3
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far - and if you like my style, check out my other IronStrange works!


	3. "18th Floor Balcony"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to my amazing beta turtle_abyss for being incredible and for putting up with me <3
> 
> The song in this chapter is "18th Floor Balcony" by Blue October. 
> 
> I'm can’t wait to see what you all think, I'm excited to share this chapter :)

Tony sprinted toward the source of the noise as the deep cracks of lightning and booms of thunder continued to shake the house. He was the closest of all the house’s inhabitants to the door that led outside, and as such he found himself arriving first to the courtyard.

Said courtyard didn’t look at all like the one he’d grown up with, because the defining feature of this one was the giant green glowing **thing** that pulsed at its center.

Tony didn’t have time to do much more than stare dumbly at the new addition to the yard’s decor before his siblings caught up with him.

“What is it?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the thunder and howling wind.

“I don’t know!” replied Natasha, and Tony knew how much she must have **hated** to say those words.

“Whatever it is, don’t get too close!” cautioned Steve.

“Yeah no shit!” sniped Clint.

“It looks like some sort of temporal anomaly!” Steve yelled. “Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two.”

“Pretty big difference there, Captain Obvious!” Clint retorted.

 

“Out of the way!” Tony heard from behind them, and suddenly he was being elbowed to the side by Bucky, who was sprinting toward the swirling mass of green light.

“Bucky **no**!” He watched in horror as his brother shot a clip of bullets at the thing with the small pistol in his hand.

Seeing that the bullets had done nothing to stop whatever this was from doing whatever it was doing, the dark-haired man threw the gun at it for good measure. All five of them watched as the weapon was whipped to and fro by gusts of strong wind before disappearing into what was apparently a giant hole in the sky.

“What is that gonna do?” shouted Natasha.

“I don’t know!” Bucky replied, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you have a better idea?!”

Electricity began to crackle through the air as a new bolt of green lightning struck a nearby tree, making Tony’s hair stand on end.

Apparently his siblings felt it too, because Bucky stumbled backwards and Steve moved to shove everyone away from the ball of light that was growing brighter by the second. “Everyone get behind me!”

Clint pushed his way past them all to stand behind Steve. “Yeah, get behind **us**.”

“I vote for running!” shouted Tony.

“I second!” agreed Bucky.

“Too late now, something’s coming through” Clint yelled.

He saw it too, after a few more moments of squinting - it looked like someone was trying to jump through the hole. No hair, white mustache - an old man? Tony was sure he’d never seen this person before, but something about him looked so familiar…

 

In front of their eyes the man began to de-age, losing decades by the second until Tony knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was happening.

 

He ducked under Steve’s outstretched arm and ran toward the hole - the **portal**.

“Tony what are you doing?!” yelled Natasha.

He barely even heard her.

 

“No!” he cried out as the man began to plummet toward the hard, unforgiving cobblestones.

Tony was just in time to partially catch the man, falling to his knees as he pulled him into his arms, preventing his dark-haired head from hitting the ground.

His eyes were closed, and for just a moment Tony stared at his face in awe.

It couldn’t be.

It **had** to be.

He would die if it wasn’t - the false hope would break the small piece of his heart that had managed to survive the past thirteen years.

 

And then the man’s eyes opened, and all of Tony’s doubts vanished.

“Stephen,” he whispered reverently, soft enough that no one else could hear him. He made to brush back the hair that had fallen in his lover’s face but stopped himself short, unable to look away from his piercing blue eyes for even a moment. He was right - the portrait in the parlor hadn’t done them justice at all. They were just as beautiful and deep as Tony remembered, as captivating as the ones he continued to see in his dreams even after all these years.

“Tony?” Stephen’s hushed voice shook, as did his hand that reached up to cup Tony’s cheek. The spark that flew between their bare skin at the contact was just as electric as the green streaks of lightning that split the sky moments ago.

Stephen began to laugh. “It worked,” he said, disbelief clear in his tone. “I found my way back to you.”

Tears slid down Tony’s face as he leaned down to press a kiss to Stephen’s forehead, finally allowing himself to run his fingers through the mop of silky black hair. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” he murmured. “Thirteen years worth.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” said Stephen lightly, allowing his hand to slide down to the nape of Tony’s neck.

He tilted his head up to close the distance between them, and Tony leaned down, and -

 

Natasha coughed.

 

Oh. Right. They had an audience.

An audience of their siblings.

Who they’d never officially come out to, and had certainly never kissed in front of.

Oops.

They both sighed, eyes meeting briefly in a look that promised _We’ll talk later_ without either of them having to move their lips.

Tony had been waiting for Stephen to come home for over thirteen years. While he really, **really** didn’t want to wait, he supposed that he could put off saying all the things he wanted to for just a little longer.

 

Stephen sat up from his position half-sprawled across Tony’s lap and rose to his feet. He reached down to help Tony up from the ground, and even once they were standing side by side neither could bear to release the other’s hand.

Before Tony could say anything to break the silence that had settled over the courtyard, Stephen beat him to it.

He turned to Bucky, pointing at him accusingly. “You nearly shot me. Multiple times.”

Bucky just shrugged. “Oops.”

 

~ o ~

 

The six Hargreeves left the courtyard together and gathered in the kitchen.

Four of them were in shock.

One of them was nearly incoherent with happiness.

And one of them was very hungry.

 

Stephen sighed as opened the package of bread and pulled out two slices. “What’s the date? The exact date?”

“The 24th,” answered Natasha immediately from her place perched on the counter.

“Of what?”

“March.”

Stephen’s expression didn’t betray any emotion as he responded “Good.”

“So, are we going to talk about what just happened?” asked Steve. “Because I’m not sure what just happened.”

Clint patted him on the shoulder condescendingly. “It’s okay, boss. These kinds of situations can be confusing for people who think with their muscles.”

Steve brushed off his hand and instead rounded on Stephen, blocking his access to the cabinets. “It’s been fourteen years, Number Five,” he accused, straightening up to his full impressive height.

Stephen scoffed. “It’s been a hell of a lot longer than that.”

When it became apparent that Steve wouldn’t budge, Stephen stepped through a shimmering portal and came out on the other side to retrieve a bag of marshmallows from its place on the shelf.

“I didn’t miss that,” Clint muttered.

“And I didn’t miss your anger issues, but here we are,” responded Stephen.

Clint winced.

“Where’d you go?” asked Natasha.

“The future. It’s shit, by the way.”

“Called it,” said Bucky from his chair next to Natasha, nursing a glass of what appeared to be water but was most likely vodka.

“I should have listened to the old man,” continued Stephen, fishing in the fridge for a jar of peanut butter. “Jumping through space is one thing, but jumping through time is a toss of the dice.”

“As happy as I am to see you … Five… ,” said Tony, forcing himself to say his number rather than name, “... how did you get back?”

Stephen stopped what he was doing and turned to look back at him, flashing him a sincere half-smile that promised further explanation when they were alone. Tony took a moment to himself to marvel that even after all this time, he could still read his love’s expressions as easy as breathing.

That was making an awfully big assumption, though, calling him _his love_ . Because what if Stephen didn’t want to be _his_ anymore?

He shoved that fear in a mental drawer to be dealt with later, and instead focused on listening to Stephen explain.

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time,” Stephen finally said, addressing the group at large.

Clint blinked. “That makes no sense.”

“Well, it would if you were smarter.”

Steve restrained Clint as he attempted to stand, and Tony felt a surge of gratitude.

“Sorry,” smirked Stephen as he smeared peanut butter onto a piece of bread and applied a healthy measure of marshmallows onto the other. “It’s far too easy to goad you. I can teach you some meditation techniques, if you’re interested.”

Clint remained silent, as if trying to prove his brother wrong.

“How long were you there?” asked Natasha.

“Forty-two years, give or take.” Stephen began the process of squishing the two slices together.

“So what are you saying?” Steve asked incredulously. “That you’re fifty-eight?”

“My consciousness is fifty-eight. Apparently my body is now thirty again.”

“How does that work?” asked Natasha.

Stephen stopped in his movements to look at her. “Just as curious as always, I see.”

“Just as **nosy** as always,” corrected Bucky.

There was a solid _thunk_ from where Natasha and Bucky sat, followed by a sharp exhale and a few muttered swears. Tony smirked.

“Christine kept saying that the equations were off,” said Stephen through a mouthful of sandwich. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

Tony arched a brow at him. “Chew. Swallow. I promise we aren’t about to run out of groceries anytime soon, and if we do Mom or Jarvis will buy more.”

Stephen smiled at him sheepishly, forcing himself to slow down.

Tony went to the sink to get him a glass of water. As he did, he heard the rustle of a newspaper, and then Stephen spoke once more.

“Hmm. I guess I missed the funeral.”

“How do you know about that?” asked Steve quickly.

“What part of _the future_ do you not understand?” He paused. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Clint.

“No,” corrected Steve.

Stephen considered them carefully for a moment. “Touchy subject, I see. Well it’s nice to know that nothing’s changed.”

Bucky chuckled darkly.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Stephen looked over to Tony and gestured toward the door, still holding a half-eaten peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in the other hand.

Tony’s heart skipped a beat as those blue eyes bore into his. He strode across the kitchen to Stephen’s side, tightening his grip on the glass of water lest he drop it.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say about Dad?” asked Natasha, pressing for more information as the pair left the room.

“What else is there to say? It’s the circle of life.”

“Come get us at sunset,” added Tony. “In the meantime, leave us alone, please and thank you.”

 

~ o ~

 

Tony sat in the middle of his childhood bed, hugging his bent knees to his chest.

Now that the shock and overwhelming joy of Stephen literally falling into his arms after all these years had faded, his good friends Insecurity and Anxiety had taken center stage. He was thrilled beyond words to have Stephen back from wherever the hell he’d been, but it felt too good to be true - like at any moment another portal would appear to rip him away again.

Or worse, what if Stephen left him willingly?

What if Tony wasn’t the person Stephen remembered? He wasn’t that interesting, really, or exciting, or worthy of anyone nearly as smart and interesting as Stephen. It was easy to misremember details about a person you loved after being apart for as long as they had, to unconsciously emphasize their strengths and ignore their weaknesses until you only recalled the former. Would Stephen be disappointed once he saw all of Tony’s idiosyncracies? His anxiety? His (very warranted) lack of self-confidence?

And worse, what if he wasn’t the person who Stephen **wanted**? He had said that he’d lived for over forty years in that future timeline. What if he had… moved on, there? The question hurt just to consider, but once it popped into his mind he couldn’t banish it.

What if - ?

 

Stephen stepped in front of Tony, placing a hand on his knee. “I can practically hear you thinking,” he said. “Talk to me, Tony.”

Tony dropped his arms and picked at a loose thread on the comforter, staring at it intently as it began to unravel the surrounding fabric. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about _Hi, how are you_ ? Or better yet, _Hi, I missed you_ . Honestly right now I’d even settle for the obvious _Hi, where have you been for the past thirteen-odd years?_.”

“Would you answer if I asked?”

“Not right now. Later, once we’ve talked about us, I’ll tell you.”

Tony hazarded to glance up at Stephen. He was gorgeous, and breathtaking, and … desperate?

“Then why do you want me to ask?”

Stephen sat down on the bed next to him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because it would be **something**. Give me something, Tony, anything. Please don’t shut down on me. I’ve been gone for thirteen years, in your time -”

“Thirteen years, four months, and fourteen days.”

The numbers rolled off Tony’s tongue without permission. He winced and looked away - anything to escape the piercing blue of Stephen’s eyes right now. What did it say about him, that he’d practically been counting the hours since Stephen disappeared? If the other man was still interested in him, maybe he would think it was sweet. But if he wasn’t, if he’d moved on, it would only sound pathetic - and oh, the thought of him being with someone else sent another sharp stab of pain through his heart.

“You kept track?” Stephen whispered.

“Of course I did,” he admitted.  “You were the most important person in my life, and you disappeared. I did whatever I could to keep you with me.”

There was a moment of silence before Stephen spoke again. “I read your book.”

Tony’s head flew up in shock to stare at Stephen, but the other man continued to speak before he could respond.

“I found it in a library that was still standing. And… I did everything I could to keep you with me too.” Stephen reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of laminated black paper.

No, Tony realized, it wasn’t just paper, it was…

He unfurled the black square, revealing it for what it was: a picture of Tony. The author picture on the back of the book he’d written about their family. It was faded with age and torn at the edges, but just seeing it filled Tony with hope.

“Tony, if you’ve moved on, or if you’re not interested, I’ll - I’ll understand. But I hope I’m not too late. Because I’ve been trying to find my way home to you for the past forty-two years.”

“You’re not,” Tony breathed, heart racing as he reached out to stroke Stephen’s cheek hesitantly. The other man leaned into the touch, placing his own hand over Tony’s to capture it there.

“I thought that **I** might be the one who was too late. That you might not want me, now.”

“You ridiculous man,” Stephen said fondly. “How could I ever stop wanting you?”

Tony closed his eyes, voice trailing off for a moment before he spoke again. “I’m sorry, I just… you know I’ve never been good with words. Not when they really matter. I can talk about bullshit for days, but… you’re not bullshit.”

Stephen chuckled. “The highest of compliments.”

Tony smiled but remained silent, helpless, unsure how to proceed. It would be so easy to close the space between them, he knew, to press his lips to Stephen’s and lose himself in the heat of his mouth and the feel of his body. He’d done it countless other times before, many of them on this same bed. But they needed to talk about this, them, first. He was back, and Tony’s heart was beating out of his chest because Stephen was here, sitting on his bed beside him, saying that he wanted him. He was ecstatic, and relieved, and nervous, and hopeful, and **_god_ ** why couldn’t all these feelings just come out of his mouth coherently so he could tell Stephen how he felt, so that they could kiss, and talk, and make up for all the time they’d lost?

 

“Do you still play?” asked Stephen, interrupting Tony’s spiraling thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw that Stephen had turned to look at the guitar sitting on its stand in the corner, his gorgeous eyes filled with deep longing.

“I do,” he replied. “Not that one, but generally speaking yes.”

Stephen turned to face him again. “Play for me? Please. If you don’t know how to say what you’re feeling, sing it for me.”

Tony nodded as his heart rate kicked up yet another notch. Stephen released his grip on his hand so that Tony could rise to his feet and cross the small room to pick up the guitar. He sat down on the small stool next to the stand, and his fingers began to dance over the strings and knobs.

“Sorry, it’ll take a minute to tune. I haven’t touched this thing in ten years.”

“I could time you, like we used to,” teased Stephen. “Your record was twenty-four seconds.”

Tony smiled and closed his eyes, still listening to the notes as he plucked the strings one by one and twisted the tuners until each sounded perfect.

 

He forced a deep, shaky breath, cleared his throat, and began to sing and play.

 

_I close my eyes,_

_and I smile,_

_knowing that everything is alright_

_to the core,_

_so close that door._

_Is this happening?_

 

_My breath is on your hair,_

_I’m unaware_

_that you opened the blinds and let the city in._

_God, you held my hand,_

_and we stand_

_just taking in everything._

 

_And I knew it from the start,_

_so my arms are open wide._

_Your head is on my stomach, and we’re -_

_we’re trying so hard not to fall asleep._

_Here we are._

_On this 18th floor balcony,_

_we’re both flying away._

 

_So we talk about Mom and Dad,_

_about family past,_

_just getting to know where we came from._

_Our hearts were on display_

_for all to see._

_I can't believe this is happening to me, and -_

_I raised my hand,_

_as if to show you that I was yours,_

_that I was so yours for the taking._

_I'm so yours for the taking, and -_

_That's when I felt the wind pick up._

_I grabbed the rail while choking up_

_these words to say,_

_and then you kissed me._

 

_I knew it from the start._

_My arms are open wide._

_Your head is on my stomach, and we're -_

_we're trying so hard not to fall asleep._

_Here we are._

_On this 18th floor balcony,_

_we're both flying away._

 

_And I'll try to sleep,_

_to keep you in my dreams,_

_'til I can bring you home with me._

_I'll try to sleep, and when I do,_

_I'll keep you in my dreams._

 

Tony opened his eyes as he played the instrumental, no longer able to resist the urge to gauge Stephen’s reaction. He looked up at the other man shly from beneath his lashes, wary of how truly vulnerable he was right now. One bad word or expression from Stephen would totally, completely shatter him.

But that fear of being broken evaporated in an instant when he saw that Stephen was crying.

Their eyes met, and for the first time since arriving at the mansion - for the first time in thirteen years - Tony felt like he was **home**. He smiled softly, and felt tears prick at his own eyes as the vocals picked back up again.

He held Stephen’s gaze as he finished the song, the need to hide and protect himself from heartbreak now long gone.

 

_And I knew it from the start,_

_so my arms are open wide._

_And your head is on my stomach, and we're -_

_we're trying so hard not to fall asleep._

_So here we are._

_On this 18th floor balcony._

 

_I knew it from the start,_

_so my arms are open wide._

_And your head is on my stomach._

_No, we're not going to sleep._

_Here we are._

_On this 18th floor balcony,_

_we're both flying away._

 

 The song ended, and before Tony had time to speak or move Stephen’s lips were on his. He awkwardly shifted the guitar onto the floor, not caring about the instrument their father had given him enough to watch where it landed.

 

At first the kiss was gentle, a questioning press of lips against his seeking permission, the wetness of Stephen’s tears beginning to dampen his own skin. The hand that rose to cup his cheek was unbelievably gentle, and there was a smile on the other man’s lips as they moved slowly against his own.

Tony gave him everything. He deepened the kiss, winding his arms around Stephen’s neck to tangle them in his hair - god, he’d always loved how soft Stephen’s hair was.

Desperation and passion quickly overtook them both, and just as Tony predicted he soon became lost in the feeling of Stephen’s mouth and body and roving hands. His lips -

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them. Both men stepped back from one another and let their hands fall, eyes flying open in shock to see Natasha standing in front of them smirking.

“Don’t you know how to knock?!” cried Tony, though honestly he’d expected nothing less from their sister. She was the master of secrets in their family, and with that came very little respect for boundaries. It comforted him to know that their secret was safe with her at least - knowledge was Natasha’s power, and her leverage over others wasn’t something she gave up easily.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you know how to lock a door?”

“I thought we told you not to bother us until sunset,” said Stephen.

“And it’s sunset.” Natasha crossed her arms. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get yourselves together though. If you’re trying to keep this a secret - which is going to be very difficult, since that little display earlier was hardly discreet - then coming out looking like this really isn’t the way to go about it.”

She turned to exit the room, but as she left she looked back over her shoulder to smile at Stephen. Unlike the smirk she’d flashed them a few moments ago, this expression was warm and genuine.

“It’s good to have you back, Five.”

Stephen returned the smile. “And it is **very** good to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I aged up Stephen - sorry but I don’t feel comfortable doing underage and the angst it would cause between them, no matter how old his consciousness is. Hope you all don’t mind. 
> 
> This is VERY much a WIP, as in I'm posting as I write. So let me know what you liked in this chapter! Tell me what makes you excited, and what you want to see more of. I'll take everything into consideration :)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos + Comments = Life <3
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far - and if you like my style, check out my other IronStrange works!


	4. "I'm Blue (Da Ba Dee)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the delayed update, but hopefully this makes up for it!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE AGED UP THIS FIC TO MATURE DUE TO VIOLENCE.
> 
> Big shoutout to my alpha/beta turtle_abyss, as always. I'd also like to thank Lunaxel, GoldenMoon_42, and cleopatraslibrary for providing me with some A+ puns for this chapter, and also just the entire Discord IronStrange server because you're all wonderful humans.
> 
> I'm also using this chapter as my "First Time" square for IronStrange Bingo, make of that what you will ;)
> 
> The song in this chapter is "I'm Blue (Da Ba Dee)" by Eiffel 65.

Tony noticed the shadow that fell over Stephen’s face as they entered the courtyard with Mom, Jarvis, and their siblings. He turned to take his lover’s hand in his own and murmured in his ear, “I didn’t think you cared about the old man so much.”

Stephen shook his head. “Not him,” he replied, and inclined his head in the direction he was looking: the statue of Bruce that sat at the middle of the gloomy square.

Right. This was the first time he was really seeing the tribute to their dead brother - both of them had been too caught up in each other when he first appeared through the portal for him to notice it.

“Was… was it bad?” he asked hesitantly.

Tony nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

It looked as if Stephen was about to say more, but as Mom spoke he fell silent.

“Did something happen?” she asked, her permanently red lips bent into a confused smile.

“Dad died,” said Natasha, confused. “Remember?”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” said Mom, bowing her head, the smile slipping from her face.

“Is Mom okay?” she asked Clint, who had the best relationship with the android out of all of them.

“Yeah, yeah she’s fine,” he said, a note of uncertainty coloring his reassuring statement. “She just needs to rest. Recharge.”

 

A moment of tense silence enveloped them all, where the only sound was the steady beating of rain against the ground and the umbrellas they all carried. 

Well, all of them except Steve and Clint. Steve and Clint weren’t carrying umbrellas, because apparently getting soaked to the bone in a thunderstorm was a feat of true manliness and leadership. Tony so desperately wanted to roll his eyes at this latest iteration of the constant pissing contest between them, but he just barely managed to restrain himself. Instead he sent Stephen a meaningful look, glanced at Steve, then Clint, and then turned back to Stephen. 

He was rewarded with a small smile, and his heart soared.

 

“Whenever you’re ready, dear boy,” said Jarvis, turning to look at Steve.

With a nod and a deep breath, Steve removed the lid of the urn he held in his hands and upended it.

Their father’s ashes settled into a large pile on the wet cobblestones. Everyone present cringed.

“Probably would have been better with some wind,” admitted Steve, a sorrowful look on his face.

Clint tried in vain to hide a smirk behind a gloved hand.

“Does anyone wish to speak?” asked Jarvis.

The courtyard was as silent as a grave.

Eventually, the android sighed. “Very well. In all regards, Sir Howard Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master … and my friend. I shall miss him very much. He leaves behind a complicated legacy - “

“He was a monster,” interrupted Clint.

Bucky chuckled darkly. “And there it is.”

“He was a bad person and a worse father,” the archer continued. “The world’s better off without him.”

“Clint - “ started Natasha, but he interrupted.

“My name isn’t really Clint. My name is Number Two, because our father couldn’t be bothered to give us actual names. We had to do it ourselves, so that when he made us go on those idiotic TV interviews and magazines shoots it didn’t sound like a fucking math class.”

“Would anyone like something to eat?” asked Mom nervously.

“No it’s okay Mom,” said Tony, barely sparing her a glance because he was too busy watching the verbal boxing match happening in front of him.

“Look, you wanna pay your respects?” continued Clint. “Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was. A crazy old billionaire who adopted seven kids and turned them into soldiers.”

“You should stop talking now,” warned Steve.

“Well, he turned six of us into soldiers,” he added, turning to Tony. “The seventh, painfully ordinary brother sold us out to become a bestselling author.”

Tony winced, and Stephen squeezed his hand comfortingly. He’d expected that, but damn if it didn’t sting anyway.

Clint rounded on Steve next. “You know, you of all people should be on my side here, Number One.”

“Clint…” cautioned Natasha. “Are you sure this is the best idea? Because it’s not.”

The archer stepped forward to shove his brother’s chest. It as pointless as trying to topple a wall with bare hands, but the message behind the action came across crystal clear. “After everything he did to you? He had to ship you a million miles away.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Steve ground out between gritted teeth. 

“That's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!”

 

Steve threw the first punch. And the second. And the third. Clint dodged all of them with ease and the fight escalated. 

Stephen pulled Tony back a few steps, pushing him behind his own body and looking ready create a portal at a moment’s notice.

“Boys! Stop this at once!” shouted Jarvis.

Neither brother listened. They continued to swing and duck and weave, feet skidding on the wet ground. Clint used Steve’s bulk to his disadvantage, climbing him like a tree to land a few heavy blows on his back. Steve flipped him over and onto the ground, and Clint awkwardly twisted mid-air to ensure that he didn’t land on the bow and quiver that were strapped to his side.

“Stop it!” shouted Tony.

“Hit him!” countered Bucky.

“Oh for the love of God,” sighed Stephen. “We really don’t have time for this.” He tugged on Tony’s hand to lead him away, but Tony shook his head. 

The fight dragged on, each man landing enough hits for them to both be sore tomorrow. And not in a fun way.

Tony turned away for a split second to speak to Stephen. 

“Oh no you don’t,” said the other man suddenly, and for a moment Tony thought he was talking to him. He wasn’t, though, and Tony turned back just in time to see the two fighting men - who were dangerously close to toppling Brice’s statue - disappear into a spinning hole of blue light. 

They reappeared a moment later, with Steve on one end of the square and Clint on the other.

Steve took a few steps toward Clint, closing the distance between them quickly… but not quickly enough. His powers made him the best at fist fights, but Clint? Clint was deadly at a distance.

The archer pulled out his bow, nocked an arrow, and fired. 

“Clint **no**!” shouted Natasha.

The shot went wide by an inch, opening a gash in Steve’s upper arm in the process. Even though Tony knew it had to be purposeful, that Clint physically couldn’t miss his target, the shock of what had just happened still rendered him speechless. He’d drawn blood. 

At least, it kept Tony speechless for a minute. But as Steve stumbled back inside like a man in a dream, he couldn’t help but turn to Clint. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

The archer just shook his head and smiled bitterly. He already seemed to be regretting his actions, but he couldn’t help but throw one final punch: “You got enough material for your sequel yet?”

“He was my father too,” Tony replied simply, before he left the courtyard with Stephen only a step behind him.

 

They left the mansion hand-in-hand and didn’t look back.

 

~ o ~

 

The pair exited the taxi in front of a coffee shop just a few blocks from Tony’s apartment. For a moment Stephen simply stared up at the flashing neon sign: a cheesy-looking UFO with a mug of coffee resting on top. “What…?”

“Get it?” chuckled Tony. “It’s a flying **saucer**.” 

Stephen’s gaze moved from the blinking coffee cup to the sign that sat just below it: _Interstellar Cafe._ He groaned. “It has a space theme.”

“It has a space theme,” confirmed Tony. “The decor is just as kitschy as you’d expect and the pastries are only okay, but the mochas are the true **star** of the menu.”

Stephen groaned again at the pun. “You had to bring me here, of all places?”

“Yep.”

“Is this the closest coffee shop to your apartment?”

“Nope.”

Stephen rolled his eyes, but he followed the other man as he took a few steps forward, swung open the large metal double doors, and strode inside the cafe.

 

He tripped over his own feet almost as soon as they entered, too distracted by the decorations to walk straight. Tony didn’t blame him. The swirling black, purple, and blue “galaxy” walls were spattered with glow-in-the-dark paint that shone a brilliant yellow-white under heavy UV lights. Cardboard cutouts of aliens in every imaginable size, shape, and garish color manned the cafe’s perimeter, all of them holding a muffin in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The tables were flying saucers nearly identical to the one on the sign outside, and the stools were shaped like mini rockets. 

Tony chose a corner table closest to the bar and cash register, and Stephen  dazedly sat down beside him. He positioned himself so that he was facing the entrance with his back to the corner as if it were second nature, and Tony wondered what exactly Stephen had been up to for the past forty-something years.

“This is exactly what I was expecting, and yet for some reason I’m still surprised,” he said, trying to make himself heard over the space-themed music that blared from a nearby speaker.

Tony grinned, his questions about his lover’s recent activities momentarily forgotten. “Oh just wait. It gets better.”

 

Stephen didn’t have to wait long before he discovered what exactly Tony meant by that. A barista wearing a white jumpsuit that glowed bright purple in the shop’s UV lights made his way to their table, with a fake bright smile on his face and a drag in his step that told them he was at the tail end of a very long shift. 

Either that or he really hated his job. Again, Tony didn’t blame him.

“Welcome to _Interstellar Cafe_ home of the best cappuccinos in the galaxy, try our new white-and-black-hole cookies and gravi-tea, they’re out of this world, my name is Star Lord how can I help you?”

Tony was mildly impressed that he managed to give the mandated spiel all in one breath, and all while keeping his voice in the same range of blatantly false cheer with just the right hint of sarcasm. This guy was new, but he really had the potential to become one of Tony’s favorite baristas here. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d go easy on the new guy just because he liked him…

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Star Lord,” the barista muttered.

“What was that?”

“Star Lord.”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you over _The Imperial March_.”

“ **Star Lord** , I’m supposed to call myself **Star Lord** okay!” he shouted. “Look, do you want some fucking coffee or don’t you?”

Tony laughed outright. Oh yeah, this guy was definitely his new favorite. “Alright, sorry, I’ll stop. I always get a kick out of this place. Mocha for me please. And he’ll have…” He trailed off and looked to Stephen.

“Just black coffee is fine, thanks,“ the other man said, clearly still put off by the cafe’s unwavering dedication to its theme. The _Star Wars_ theme stopped playing, and for a moment he seemed to sigh in relief...until the next song started.

Star Lord was back to hiding behind his overblown merry facade. “Galac-tastic! And what sizes will those be?” 

“Why don’t you tell us what the sizes are?” asked Tony, fighting to keep a straight face.

The barista closed his eyes and sighed before answering. “Red dwarf, Interstellar medium, and Titan.”

“Make it a Titan,” Stephen said tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And for the love of god please skip this song. If I have to listen to David Bowie sing about how planet Earth is blue for the next four minutes I will throw myself into a black hole.”

Tony shot him a half-hearted glare.

“I’m really not allowed to mess with the music…”

“But it’ll piss him off,” he replied, gesturing to Tony. “He loves Bowie.”

Star Lord grinned. “I hear you loud and clear, Major Tom. Any requests?”

“Country western songs about men in love with their trucks? 50s diner music? Rabid cats howling at the moon? Or even more space songs, I don’t care, just not this one. Literally anything but this.”

Star Lord saluted him. “Your wish is my command sir. I’ll be back in a minute with those drinks. I hope my service has been inter **stellar**!”

Tony cackled. “Okay that’s a new one. It’s great, I love it.”

Star Lord flipped him off before exiting the room through the double doors in the far corner. 

 

“I love this place. You know every time I look up at the night sky I say, “ _That’s totally far out_.” “

“Tony.”

“And other times I think that we should maybe form a protest against gravity? Because honestly, I feel like it’s holding me down.”

“ **Tony**.”

“What magazine do planets read?”

“I really don’t care, but I expect that you’re about to tell me anyway.”

“Cosmo-s.”

Stephen smiled wearily at him. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me. But you love me anyway,” he said, a shit-eating grin making its way onto his face.

“I do,” said Stephen, reaching out to hold one of Tony’s hands where it sat on top of the UFO table. 

Tony was thrown off by the admission that came to his lips so easily. His heart swelled, and he raised his free hand to grasp Stephen’s other. “I love you too,” he admitted.

 

David Bowie’s voice cut out abruptly and silence permeated the cafe. Stepehen sighed in relief, and the sweet moment between them was lost. “I’m sure Star Lord is just searching for another horrible space song to play next, but honestly, anything he chooses will be better than Bowie.”

“That is blasphemy.”

Stephen looked as if he was about to respond - but then suddenly he froze, looking over Tony’s shoulder to the front of the cafe. “Here to join us for coffee?” Stephen drawled, voice tinged with false nonchalance. “I hear the gravi-tea is galac-tastic.”

Tony was startled by the metallic clicks of several guns being cocked behind him. He spun around on his stool to see a group of heavily armed men standing between them and the exit. 

“Okay, let’s all be professional about this,” said the one closest, his deep, rasping voice sending chills down Tony’s spine. “On your feet and come with us. Both of you.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” said Stephen, jerking his head at Tony. “Just met him five minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t matter - we don’t leave witnesses. Either he leaves here with us, alive, or the cops carry out his corpse when they show up after. And that goes for you too. They want to talk.”

Their words made Stephen’s voice grow icy. “And I’ve got nothing to say.”

“It doesn’t have to go this way. You think I want to shoot a bystander? Go home with that on my conscience?

“You know, you are **really** going to regret threatening him.”

 

Star Lord chose that precise, extremely tense moment to put on a new song, and god if Tony wasn’t so scared he’d be laughing.

 

_Yo listen up, here's the story_

_about a little guy that lives in a blue world._

_And all day and all night,_

_and everything he sees is just blue like him,_

_inside and outside._

 

The armed man tried to stare Stephen down, but seemed to quickly realize that any hope of this mission ending without a fight was pure fantasy. He gestured to his men, and they all began to draw closer.

 

_Blue his house, with a blue little window,_

_and a blue Corvette._

_And everything is blue for him_

 

“When I portal,” he whispered to Tony, his words masked by the heavily synthesized voice that had begun sing-talking through the speakers, “hide under the table until I tell you it’s safe.” 

 

_and himself and everybody around_

_'cause he ain't got nobody to listen._

 

Tony knew better than to outwardly acknowledge his words, but he would give anything to be able to turn around and talk to Stephen right now. He was scared, absolutely terrified for both of them, this was going to be his first time seeing hero fight in person aside from Sokovia, and god if he could just see Stephen’s face -

 

_I'm blue -_

 

Stephen portaled, and Tony threw himself under the table like he’d been told.

 

_\- da ba dee da ba die._

 

He reappeared behind the man he’d been speaking with a few moments ago. 

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

Well, that man was never going to speak again, or even breathe, if the coffee spoon Stephen plunged into his throat had its way. 

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

Tony knew it would indeed have its way. There was too much blood for it not to, the hole in the front of his neck too big. 

Even as he scrabbled on his hands and knees under the table to further distance himself from the fighting, Tony understood on some deeper level that he had just seen a man die right in front of him.

It was his first time.

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

Stephen disappeared again as several machine guns began to fire at where he’d just been standing.

 

_I’m blue,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

He stuck his head out from behind a large purple-skinned alien with a golden gauntlet on its left hand. “Hey assholes!” he shouted, before retreating behind the cutout again.

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

While the soldiers were busy pounding bullets into every square inch of the flimsy cardboard alien - which was rapidly taking on the hole-ridden appearance of a shooting range target - Stephen reappeared behind one of them and shoved him forward directly into the line of fire.

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

It took a few moments for the rest of the soldiers to realize that they were shooting at their own man. By that point it was too late, and Stephen had once again disappeared into the ether.

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

Tony laughed somewhat hysterically at what was quickly beginning to look like a deadly game of interdimensional whack-a-mole. Stephen would pop into existence, the soldiers would attempt to hurt him but only succeed in hurting each other, and Stephen would evaporate before they could do so much as scratch him. Wash, rinse, repeat.

 

This continued until there was only one man left standing. 

Well, half-standing. The man was doubled over at the waist, as Stephen held him in an arm lock and pinned him to one of the saucer-shaped tables. 

At this point, since the threat had been all but neutralized, Tony assumed it was safe to come back out. He winced as he stood and stretched his knees and back, both sore from being contorted to fit under the table.

 

_I have a blue house with a blue window._

_Blue is the color of all that I wear._

_Blue are the streets, and all the trees are too._

_I have a girlfriend, and she is so blue._

 

“How did you find me?” Stephen shouted to be heard over the music.

The man shook his head even as he panted in fear, eyes glazed over with panic and pupils blown wide.

Stephen tightened his hold on the soldier, and Tony heard a sickening pop come from each shoulder. The man screamed.

Damn, did his lover really just dislocate both of a man’s arms? Did he really just kill  - Tony looked around and did a quick count, _one, two, three, four, ooh that guy was really messed up, six, seven, eight_ \- **eight** fully armed men?

 

_Blue are the people here that walk around._

_Blue like my Corvette, it's in and outside._

_Blue are the words I say and what I think._

_Blue are the feelings that live inside me._

 

“Let’s try that again, shall we? **How. Did. You. Find. Me.** ”

“A tracker, there’s a tracker in your arm,” the soldier replied, nearly sobbing. “Please, please don’t kill me.”

“Which one?” asked Stephen, unaffected by the man’s begging.

“Your right forearm. Please.”

 

_I’m blue,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

“Stephen…?” said Tony hesitantly. His lover had always been a good fighter, cunning and efficient, never one to pull a punch in the many battles he’d watched through the button cam. But this … this was a level of ruthlessness that Tony associated with Clint, or with Steve. 

This wasn’t the boy who he’d loved and lost thirteen years ago.

 

What had happened to him between then and now to turn him into this - a cold, methodical killer who didn’t seem the least bit affected by another human’s screams?

 

Stephen turned to look over his shoulder at Tony, and his face softened. “I have to, Tony,” he said, his voice pleading. “He knows about you. He’ll tell **them** , and they won’t hesitate to hurt you to get to me.”

“No, no no I promise, I won’t,” begged the man. “Please, I won’t tell them, I won’t - “

Tony bit his lip, but nodded. 

 

_I’m blue,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

He closed his eyes as the man began to scream and thrash with new urgency.

“They will do so much worse, if I let you go,” said Stephen. “And you would tell them just to make it stop.”

Tony heard a sharp crack and the man’s cries ceased.

 

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

_Da ba dee da ba die,_

_da ba dee da ba die._

 

After a moment, he felt a hand caress his cheek. He flinched, and opened his eyes. 

Stephen’s expression was impossibly sad. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I wish I could promise this is the last time, but there are people after me Tony, and they won’t stop until I’m dead or they are. And I will do absolutely anything to make sure that they don’t touch you.”

Tony reached up to wipe off some of the blood splattered on Stephen’s forehead. The pool was larger than it appeared, and he only succeeded in streaking it farther across his temple.

And now his own hand was coated red too.

Out damned spot, he thought grimly, but again he nodded. “What’s going on, Stephen?” he asked softly.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything. But first, I’m going to need you to close your eyes again.” He gestured to his right arm. “If he was right and there’s a tracker in here, it’s going to be deep.”

 

Tony paled, but shook his head. “If you don’t get to look away, neither do I.”

 

_I have a blue house with a blue window._

_Blue is the color of all that I wear._

_Blue are the streets, and all the trees are too._

_I have a girlfriend, and she is so blue._

 

He held onto Stephen’s right hand tightly as the left plunged a knife into skin. He felt like he was going to pass out, seeing so much of his lover’s blood come spilling out as the metal bit deeper and sliced farther toward the elbow.

After a few tense seconds, though, Stephen extracted a glowing green pill-shaped **thing** from his arm. 

 

_Blue are the people here that walk around._

_Blue like my Corvette, it's in and outside._

_Blue are the words I say and what I think._

_Blue are the feelings that live inside me._

 

“C’mon, I have bandages at my place,” said Tony, voice shaky. He grabbed a handful of napkins from a table and pressed them to his lover’s wound. “We’re only a few blocks away.” 

He led the way out the door, pausing briefly to let Stephen flick the tracker into a sewer grate.

Tony knew he’d never be able to go back to that coffee shop. If he ever tried to return to that dark room with glow-in-the-dark paint splatters and cardboard aliens, he’d be reminded of that ridiculous song punctuated by a constant stream of bullets, and the view of blood-covered bodies falling to the ground as he hid in the shadow of a UFO table.

 

And it really was a shame - their mochas were out of this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is VERY much a WIP, as in I'm posting as I write. So let me know what you liked in this chapter! Tell me what makes you excited, and what you want to see more of. I'll take everything into consideration :)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos + Comments = Life <3
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far - and if you like my style, check out my other IronStrange works!


	5. “Run Boy Run”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my fantastic alpha/beta turtle_abyss, and to you my darling readers.
> 
> I’m using this for my “Trapped” IronStrange Bingo square, and now I finally have a BINGO! <3
> 
> The song in this chapter is “Run Boy Run” by Woodkid.

Tony dabbed at the long cut on his lover’s arm, making the other man flinch. Stephen attempted to pull back, but Tony’s hand kept a firm grip on his wrist.

“Hold **still** ,” he said, exasperated. “Do you want this to get infected?”

Stephen grimaced. “No. But I’m not fond of being tortured with peroxide either.”

“You need a distraction.”

“Such as?”

“Talk to me.”

“Horrible weather we’re having.” His attempt at sarcasm was marred by a sharp intake of breath as Tony swiped over a particularly sensitive area. “Partly cloudy with a strong chance of bullets.”

“You said you would tell me everything,” said Tony quietly. 

Stephen looked up at him quizzically.

“About what happened to you.”

“I did. I will.”

“So, tell me.”

 

Stephen took a deep breath. “When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future… I found nothing.”

“Nothing, as in nothing out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing, as in the world had been turned to ash. The city was rubble, as was every other place I visited. As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive.”

Tony’s hands stilled for a moment before he resumed tending to Stephen’s wound. He dropped the blood-stained sterile wipes onto the coffee table and picked up the gauze and medical tape. “You were trapped? Alone?” he asked, the strain in his voice evident. “For over 40 years?”

“I was… until I wasn’t. I’ll get to that.”

“What happened? What caused the apocalypse?”

“I never figured it out. But I found a newspaper.”

“And it didn’t have any clues?”

“No. Just a date.” Stephen’s gaze turned desperate, his seafoam eyes filled with a pain that had nothing to do with his arm. “Tony, the world is going to end in eight days, unless I figure out how to stop it.”

Tony mind froze, even as his hands kept working of their own accord. He wanted to comfort Stephen, reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Because it was pointless, wasn’t it? What ideas or platitudes could he offer that Stephen hadn’t already thought of and dismissed?

“I do have one lead. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“What is it?”

“An eye.”

Tony’s own eyes widened. “You have an eyeball in your pocket, and you’re **just now** telling me about it? Hasn’t it… decomposed?” He shuddered at the mental image.

“It’s not an **eyeball** ,” said Stephen, “it’s...  I’ll just show you.”

Stephen reached into the pocket of his tattered black trousers. Tony heard the clink of metal against metal, and suddenly Stephen was pulling out a golden pendant by the chain. He held it aloft and offered it to Tony to examine.

Tony secured the gauze pad on his lover’s forearm with one last piece of tape before reaching out to take the necklace.

 

Well, it was definitely an eye. A very ornate, football-shaped eye with symbols and whirls and lines carved into every inch of its surface. The warm hue of the pendant’s coloring contrasted sharply with the feeling it left on his bare skin. The metal was bitingly cold, like a spoon that was left in the freezer or the handle of a car covered in snow. As he thought of the hope he and Stephen and the rest of the world had pinned to this weird piece of jewelry, though, he unconsciously tightened his grip around it to the point of pain.

Tony forced himself to loosen his hand, and found himself staring at the circle in the middle, with a horizontal line that bisected it to give the appearance of eyelids. Maybe...

“It looks like it should open there,” he said, unable to tear his gaze away. “Did you - “

“I tried everything I could think of. But I’m hoping it’s rightful owners will solve the mystery.”

“Where are they? Where did you find this?”

“When I portaled to that apocalyptic hellhole, I explored all around the city. Looking for food, survivors - anything. That’s how I found the library, with your book. And it’s how I found a building just a few blocks away from here that was completely unscathed. I couldn’t find a way inside, and I stood there in the street shouting myself hoarse but no one answered. But this was… on the doorstep.”

Tony could tell by Stephen’s moment of hesitation that he was hiding something. There was more to the story of how he found this weird, beautiful, eye-shaped **thing** that sent chills down his spine.

He wasn’t sure what exactly Stephen would be hiding, or why he wouldn’t trust Tony with the truth for that matter, and so he let the explanation pass without questioning it aloud.

 

Stephen picked up on Tony’s disbelief, though, and misinterpreted it entirely. He asked in a defeated tone, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do,” Tony quickly reassured the other man, but that didn’t seem to satisfy him.

”Tony, I was there. I saw and lived and nearly died in a post-apocalyptic hellhole where everyone and everything I’ve ever loved were **gone**. I’m not crazy, and I’m not lying. You have to believe me. I need you.” His voice cracked, and so did Tony’s heart along with it. “I don’t care if everyone else on the planet thinks I’m crazy, but I need you to believe me, because I can’t do this on my own any longer.”

Tony stood from his chair and moved to sit on the couch next to his lover. He gathered him into his arms, and Stephen exhaled shakily as he tucked his head under Tony’s chin and pressed his face into the front of his shirt. “Please don’t leave me alone again,” he whispered. “Living in a world without you in it was unbearable enough. Living in a world where you’re alive but not by my side… Tony I wouldn’t survive it.”

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” soothed Tony, carding his hands through the other man’s dark curls. “I believe you. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

He was startled to realize that it was the truth. Despite the absurdity of everything Stephen had told him in the last ten minutes, he never thought to doubt him apart from the story of his finding the eye abandoned on that building’s doorstep. Maybe if they’d had a lesser bond before his disappearance, he would question his love’s veracity or sanity. But as it stood, the Stephen he knew fourteen years ago would never be wrong about this sort of thing. He wasn’t one to be overly emotional without reason or to stretch the truth into hyperbole. And the Stephen he was holding now didn’t seem any different from the one he’d held as a boy - at least, not in a way that made him any less trustworthy.

“Promise me?” whispered Stephen, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist tightly, as if it were the only thing tethering him to this time.

“I promise. I’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You’d better get comfortable, then. Because I will never stop needing you.”

 

They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other’s arms, grateful not to be disturbed by Natasha, or armed soldiers, or that hilarious barista - Star Lad? Something like that, Tony couldn’t remember the name exactly but he knew he was close. Ah well, didn’t matter now.

There were so many questions he still wanted to ask Stephen. How had he survived for so long? He’d said he was alone _until he wasn’t_ \- what did that mean? Who was _Christine_ , the person he’d mentioned earlier? Where did they go from there, in terms of preventing the apocalypse?

This wasn’t the time to pepper him with questions, though, no matter how desperate he was to know the answers. His curiosity could wait. What mattered most was taking care of the man he loved, and right now it was obvious that Stephen needed reassurance, love, and a good night’s sleep. He’d covered the reassurance part, and love was an ongoing, infinite process. Now, it was time for the third issue.

“Come on,” he said, finally breaking the peaceful silence between them. He released Stephen from his hold, and the other man reluctantly did the same. “You should get some rest, sweetheart. We both should.”

“I need to start working, there isn’t enough time -“

“You can’t stop the end of the world if you’re too tired to see straight, Stephen. We’ll start tomorrow, bright and early. Okay?”

He stood and offered a hand, which Stephen took. The two crossed the tiny apartment and made their way to the bedroom. 

Stephen hesitated at the door as Tony crossed the threshold. “Should I… I can sleep on the couch? If you want?”

Tony stared at him as if he had two heads. “I only just got you back. Why on Earth would I want to let you go again?”

Stephen gave a small, relieved smile in reply.

He went digging through his drawers and scavenged up an old band tee and sweats. He turned and gave them to the other man, stealing a short, sweet kiss as he did so. “Bathroom’s that way, feel free to use my toothbrush or whatever else.”

 

The pair prepped for bed, and soon found themselves curled up against one another under layers of warm blankets. Stephen pressed his lips to a bare patch of skin that peeked out between the collar of Tony’s shirt and the nape of his neck. “I love you,” he said softly, and Tony heard in his voice a kind of reverence.

“I love you too,” he replied simply, trying to squeeze as much affection as he could into those four short words. 

He felt the heaviness of sleep weighing him down, and soon gave into the warm comfort it promised. He’d been having nightmares off and on for years, now, after Stephen left and Bruce died. But with Stephen’s body pressed against his back and his long arms wound around his waist, Tony had a feeling that they wouldn’t make an appearance tonight.

 

~ o ~

 

_Tony met Stephen’s eyes across the breakfast table._

_A second later, he was gone._

 

_Tony has always regretted not chasing Stephen that day. It’s a sight that has haunted him since the moment it happened, a split-second decision that he will never forgive himself for._

_This time, Tony springs up from the table, knocking over his chair in the process. He sprints after Stephen as the other teen - for they were both teenagers again - ran down the crowded sidewalk._

 

_But even now, he’s helpless to stop Stephen. The boy is so determined as he sprints down the street that he is deaf to Tony’s shouts and pleas, even as he follows just a few steps behind._

 

_The sharp percussion of drumsticks beating in time echoes all around him. The sound comes from nowhere and yet Tony isn’t surprised. His dreams are often filled with music, and by now he is sure that this is a dream… or a nightmare._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_This world is not made for you._

_Run boy run,_

_They’re trying to catch you.)_

 

_Stephen rips a shimmering blue hole in time and space. He sprints through without breaking stride._

_Tony has never been able to portal with Stephen, but again he isn’t surprised when he’s able to easily slip through behind him before the doorway closes._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_Running is a victory._

_Run boy run,_

_Beauty lays behind the hills.)_

 

_They reemerge on a blistering summer day. The fall leaves that had littered the edges of the sidewalk have disappeared, replaced by the shimmering mirage of heat as it radiates up from the concrete._

 

_“Not ready my ass,” Stephen says in a cocky, determined tone._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_The sun will be guiding you._

_Run boy run,_

_They’re dying to stop you.)_

 

_Stephen portals them into a blizzard. Swirling gusts of snow obscure Tony’s vision, and flakes soon begin to stick to his eyelashes._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_This race is a prophecy._

_Run boy run,_

_Break out from society.)_

 

_Through it all, Stephen never stops running. By now, Tony wonders whether the teen is even capable of hearing him, or if this is the kind of dream where he is doomed to be an invisible observer._

_Still, he follows. His feet pounding on the pavement match pace with the percussion of the drumsticks as Stephen begins to create another hole._

 

_He knows what’s coming next. Stephen told him last night._

 

_And there is nothing he can do to stop it._

 

_(Tomorrow is another day,_

_And you won’t have to hide away.)_

 

_Destruction. Flames. Silence._

_Tony had known what to expect, and yet the sight of this post-apocalyptic world still takes his breath away._

 

_It very clearly has the same effect on Stephen. For a moment the boy stands frozen in horror, taking in the landscape of the time he has brought himself to._

 

_(You’ll be a man, boy._

_But for now it’s time to run,_

_It’s time to run.)_

 

_He begins to sprint down the street again, this time headed back toward the Academy._

_Tony trails behind._

_His racing heart speeds to keep time with the frantic beating of the music._

 

_The sight of their childhood home in ruins knocks the breath from both boys’ lungs._

_“Tony!” Stephen manages to choke out through a mouthful of ash that he has inhaled. “Bruce! Dad! Anyone!”_

 

_(Run boy run,_

_This ride is a journey to.)_

 

_But there is no one to answer him._

 

_He tries to portal, but this time the fabric of space refuses to yield to the blue glow of his hands._

 

_“Come on!” His voice is destroyed, desperate._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_the secret inside of you.)_

 

_Stephen enters the destroyed mansion through the crumbling entryway. He shifts through the rubble, and Tony’s mouth fills with bile at what he finds._

_Dead Steve._

_Dead Natasha._

_Dead Clint._

_Dead Bucky._

 

_(Run boy run,_

_This race is a prophecy._

_Run boy run,_

_And disappear in the trees.)_

 

_Stephen seems to realize at the same time he does that Tony’s own body is not there. He can sense the hope radiating off of the other boy’s small frame._

_He scrambles to the highest part of the building that is still standing and surveys the world around them._

 

_There’s one building left standing a few blocks away, seemingly untouched by the destruction. Stephen quickly descends from his perch and runs toward it._

_It’s a natural meeting spot, Tony understands. If he’d found himself stranded in this dead world and was desperately searching for Stephen - or any other survivors, really - it’s the first place he would look too._

 

_(Tomorrow is another day,_

_And you won’t have to hide away.)_

 

_They arrive sooner than should be physically possible, and Tony knows instinctively that they have jumped forward in time._

_The building is indeed still standing - the event that has left the rest of the world in ruin doesn’t seem to have even scratched its stone facade._

 

_(You’ll be a man, boy._

_But for now it’s time to run,_

_It’s time to run.)_

 

_Stephen stares through the darkened windows and shouts for Tony or anyone else who may be listening until he sounds hoarse._

_There’s no answer._

_He desperately searches the perimeter of the building under heaping piles of debris and ash…_

 

_...and that is when he finds it._

 

_(Tomorrow is another day,_

_And when the night fades away.)_

 

_Tony is looking into his own empty eyes. They’re wide open, staring at everything but seeing nothing._

 

_Stephen falls to his knees and sobs._

_He takes the strange, eye-shaped metal pendant that dangles from his lover’s lifeless hand._

 

_(You’ll be a man, boy._

_But for now it’s time to run,_

_It’s time to run.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Stay tuned for more, and check out my other works if you like my style!
> 
> I LIVE for kudos and comments <3 <3


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